


Always

by MCUhistorian



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Fusion, F/M, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Inspired by Avengers: Endgame, Not Canon Compliant
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-04
Updated: 2019-10-04
Packaged: 2020-11-23 18:43:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20894351
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MCUhistorian/pseuds/MCUhistorian
Summary: The world lies ravaged by Voldemort and his Death Eaters. A splintered Order of the Phoenix mourns their losses as Harry Potter lays dying far from Grimmauld Place. Rescued by the travelling Kingsley Shacklebolt, he reunites with the Order as they figure out how to undo the calamity caused by the Dark Lord.





	Always

“Alright, don’t speed up yet,” Ginny Weasley-Corner warned Evelyn as they circled their side of the makeshift Quidditch pitch, looking for the telltale spot of gold flitting through the air. “Remember, stay aware of where you are or you’ll miss your chance.”

“Mm-hmm,” Evelyn hummed, eyes scrunched in concentration as her head swivelled. Ginny smiled, watching as her daughter continued to keep ahead of her. Ever since she was placed under house arrest (she would never quite forgive Harry for that), she had been bored out of her skull, her mind not allowing her to rest (a byproduct of growing up with Fred and George), a state of boredom was only broken when her children came home for the holidays, during which they would spend their time mucking about on the Quidditch pitch set up behind their house. This was especially true now - it had been two years since the beginning of her arrest, meaning that the coming days signaled her impending freedom, and she had been in a perpetual state of bliss - her family would have been able to report Ginny doing Chaser and Seeker drills at ungodly hours in the morning, whooping all the while. 

“Mum, I think I see it!” Evelyn’s voice snapped Ginny out of her reverie, and she followed Evelyn’s line of sight - the Snitch was indeed in view, circling the hoops a little more than 10 meters away. “Awesome!” she yelled back. “Now we can focus on grabbing it, yeah? Keep it in sight - can you still see it?” 

“Yeah!” came the reply. Ginny grinned, before flying just ahead of Evelyn, jokingly obscuring her view of the Snitch. “How about now?” she asked, mischief in her voice.

“Mum, stop!” Evelyn laughed, cutting around her before racing towards the golden speck, Ginny close behind. A solid thump and a muffled “Nice!” from the other side of the pitch told Ginny that Roman and Lunar, both aiming for chasers, had followed their example and started tossing a Quaffle around. She could also hear her husband Michael, preparing the barbeque they would later be having for lunch, echoing the sentiment before yelling to the women, “You two want mayo or mustard?” At this Evelyn laughed again, questioning, “who would want mayo in a hotdog?” 

“Your brothers,” Ginny replied humorously before yelling a reply: “Two mustard! Thanks, Michael!” As Michael repeated himself to the boys, Evelyn raced forward, grabbing the Snitch and circling back, whooping. Ginny whooped back before giving her daughter a high-five. “Nice catch, Eve!” she said warmly as Evelyn beamed. “Alright, now put it back; we’re gonna eat soon.”

As Evelyn raced down towards the equipment box, Ginny turned to Michael, who was now calling them down for lunch, Ginny yelled back, “Alright, we’re coming, we’re hungry!” Ginny landed and dismounted, turning to the equipment box to beckon Evelyn over…

Only to find nobody there. Ginny, confused, called out, “Evelyn?” Walking over, she noticed Evelyn’s broom lying on the grass. This was strange: Ginny had always lectured her children on taking proper care of their equipment, and Evelyn had been the most consistent of the three when it came to equipment management - she would never leave her broom lying on the field. Upon further inspection, she couldn’t catch sight of Evelyn anywhere. “Sweetie?” she called out to Michael, turning towards the table. “Have you seen…?”

She stopped midspeech, broom dropping to the ground - the seat her husband had occupied on the picnic table was empty, a hot dog and a mustard bottle lying haphazardly on the table as if dropped. Looking around, Ginny noticed that her sons had disappeared as well, their brooms lying on the grass like Evelyn’s.

Ginny ran over to the table, eyes wide, looking in all directions wildly for someone, anyone, praying that this was a bad joke, praying that the missing members of her family would suddenly pop out from behind the nearby woods as a punchline to a prank. Bringing two fingers to her mouth, she whistled sharply before calling out again, her voice growing increasingly shrill in her panic.

“Sweetie? Sweetie? Roman? Lunar? Children?! Michael?!”

\  
\

On the Knight Bus, Harry Potter leaned back on his makeshift bed, paper Quaffle set on the bedside table and pointed towards the waiting fingers of Daphne Greengrass, who watched him with a neutral gaze. For what felt like the thousandth time, Harry sighed inwardly - 10 days on the road and she barely regarded him as a friend. ‘_Better a neutral gaze than an icy one, I suppose,_’ he thought to himself. At least she wasn’t trying to kill him. He chuckled mirthlessly at the thought, stopping when he detected a hint of a strange look on Daphne’s face. Shaking his head, he lined up his shot before flicking the Quaffle, only to have her reflexively snatch at it mid-flight, which only served to send the triangle through the gap between her arms. Starting, Harry caught himself quickly - he wasn’t as skilled at emotional control as Daphne (as she had sardonically pointed out numerous times). 

“You don’t have to do that,” he said amicably, bringing his hands back down from their raised position. “You’re just holding the position.” He proceeded to align his fingers in the “goal” position in a demonstration; Daphne continued to stare at him - Harry wasn’t sure if she was genuinely interested or if she wanted to hide his body in the nearby woods. “Yeah, you’ll get the hang of it,” he continued awkwardly after a pause. ‘_Snape was easier to get along with,_’ he thought to himself, inwardly grimacing. As much as he didn’t want to acknowledge missing the Potions Master, he did have to admit that the greasy git made for a better conversationalist. ‘_Could have done without the disparaging comments about my existence, though._’

A brief and quiet “ahem” broke him out of his thoughts (was it that easy nowadays? It seemed that way to Harry), and he looked up to see Daphne looking at him expectantly, holding the small paper triangle up in the air as if asking him what the object was for. Bringing himself back to reality, he quickly went about coaching her on shooting the Quaffle, and after several tries (interjected with compliments such as “close,” none of which seemed to be helping her any if her frown was anything to go by), she managed to shoot the triangle through Harry’s thumbs. Harry nodded in approval. “That’s a goal; we are now one apiece.”

“I would like to try again.” Daphne’s eyes lit up with a glint of what seemed like mirth, as her mouth twitched slightly - was that a smile? Harry could swear that she almost smiled. Harry, for his part, merely smirked in amusement, before picking the Quaffle up off of his lap. A few minutes later, both Harry and Daphne had scored one goal apiece. 

“We’re tied up,” Harry remarked as he balanced the Quaffle corner on the table. Daphne held her fingers up as her mouth curved in what was undoubtedly a smile. Harry grinned back. “See? What did I tell you, huh? It’s fun.” A flick sent the Quaffle up in a pitiful arc, landing an inch away from the goal. “That was terrible; now you have a chance to win.”

A flick from Daphne sent the triangle in a smooth arc over his fingers. “And you’ve won,” Harry commented in a congratulatory tone. “Congratulations. Fair game,” he added, sticking his hand out. Daphne eventually took it after a few seconds of hesitation. “Good sport,” Harry complimented. “Did you have fun?”

Daphne remained silent for a couple of seconds before softly saying, “It was fun.” Harry smiled. Maybe he was getting through to her after all.

\  
\

**12 days later**

It was night when Harry eased himself into a sitting position on the floor near the driver’s seat of the Bus. A part of him wondered if he should have done this in a chair or a bed, but he pushed those thoughts away - he was feeling weaker and weaker, and doing it in a comfortable area would have caused him to fall asleep. He settled himself onto the hard floor, leaning back on the wall behind him, and set the mirror down in front of him with a flick of his wand. ‘_Swish and flick,_’ he noted dryly to himself.

“Check, check,” he said into the mirror, his voice raspy as he forced the words out. “Hey, Ms. Turpin. If you find this memory, don’t go reporting it the Prophet or the Quibbler or anything like that - it’s gonna be real tearjerker.” He paused, shaking his head roughly in order to clear the clouds of sleep that were already beginning to form. “I don’t know if you’re ever going to see these. I don’t even know if you’re still - Merlin, I hope so.

“Today’s day 21 - no, 22. You know, if it wasn’t for the feeling of isolation of staring at woods and plains no matter where I turn my head, I’d say I’m feeling a little better today. Curse’s run its course, thanks to Ice Queen Greengrass up there. You’d love her - very practical, very knowledgeable. Only a tiny bit sardonic and cold, but hey, who am I to judge? Neither of us are in any condition to Apparate, so we’re stuck on the Knight Bus together. Problem is, the charms and wards on this thing were absolutely wrecked after the battle. We managed to cobble together some charms to keep this thing running - even added some Muggle gasoline we found in the back for good measure. I’d say we bought ourselves maybe a couple days worth of travel, but the Bus is now immobile on some god-forsaken hill on who-knows-bloody-where. We’re coming up on the last dregs of food and water, and after that, Greengrass will probably bury me on the side of the road. 

“Look, Lisa, I know I said no more surprises, but I gotta say I was really hoping to pull one last one out of my arse, but it looks like I might have to take off that last bit of the Boy-Who-Lived title. Don’t feel bad about this. Actually, if you could tell Ron, or Hermione, if she ever came back, to grovel for a couple of weeks and then move on with enormous guilt, that would be great.” At this, Harry leaned forward and brought a hand to his face. The rational side of him pointed out that he was being unfair to his friends - his former friends, anyway - but he was too tired and hungry to care about anything, least of all the ones who fucked off when he needed them. 

“I should probably lie down, rest my eyes,” he continued, feeling the need for sleep overpower him as his vision blurred. “Please know that when I drift off, it’ll be like every night lately - I’m fine. Totally fine. And I’ll dream about you. It’s always you.” 

With that, Harry fell silent, his meager strength leaving him as it took more and more effort to stay awake. With shaking fingers, he reached into the pocket of his loose-fitting robes and pulled out a small vial. He waited for a few seconds to let the memory cement itself into his mind before he pressed the tip of his wand to his temple. Pulling the memory out of his head, he carefully deposited the ethereal silver strand into the vial before stoppering it shut. With the last of his strength, he levitated it carefully onto the nightstand, setting it gently next to the worn paper Quaffle. 

He moved to get up only for his body to quickly give up - malnourished and exhausted, he barely had the energy to get to a bed. Sighing, he grabbed a jacket that had been thrown haphazardly onto the floor near him. ‘_Never been picked up, more like,_’ he thought, chuckling to himself. ‘_This is Malfoy’s bus after all._’ Shuddering, Harry threw the jacket over himself and lay on the floor, not bothering to take his glasses off. 

As he started to drift off, he felt someone lift him from the floor and onto the nearby bed, taking his glasses off - his relationship with Daphne had come a long way in the past three weeks. ‘22 days in a cramped Bus with little to do has that effect,’ he thought hazily as he heard Daphne pad silently up the stairs, careful not to disturb him. Closing his mind from any further thoughts, he drifted off into sleep.

\

_“TELL ME YOU DIDN”T!”_

_“MALFOY, STOP!”_

_“You have my respect, Potter.”_

_“Potter, there was no other way.”_

_“Harry, I don’t feel so good.”_

“Harry, get up! Get up now!”

Harry awoke as he immediately became aware of someone roughly shaking him awake. Blinking the sleep out of his eyes, he looked to his left to find Daphne looking towards the rear door of the bus, wand drawn and pointed at the door. Looking back at Harry, she stopped shaking him upon noticing his open eyes and, with one hand, thrust his glasses onto his nose and his wand into his hand. This should have been Harry’s first clue that something was wrong; however, he was too annoyed about being woken from his sleep (unpleasant as it was) to register Daphne’s worried look or the way her wand tip glowed threateningly. He opened his mouth to ask Daphne if she had completely lost her mind when he heard the telltale chiming of the protective wards surrounding the Bus.

Someone was outside the door.

Adrenaline suddenly filled Harry as he rolled off the bed and took cover behind the mattress, listening as the assailant began to attempt to force the door open. Trusting that Daphne’s wards would stall the intruder long enough for him to get his bearings, he quickly took stock of the situation.

He and Daphne were currently crouched behind two beds a decent distance away from the door the intruder was attempting to force their way through. The distance, Harry noted, would be enough that they would have enough time to react to incoming spells but not enough so that they would be able to sufficiently move around in as they would a proper battlefield; on the contrary, the space was cramped enough that they posed as big a risk to each other as the mystery assailant - or assailants. That was another thing: the wards surrounding the vehicle were sufficient enough to detect if anyone was attempting forced entry; they did not, however, report the number of intruders outside the Bus - neither Harry nor Daphne had the strength to cast those wards - which meant there could be anywhere from one to ten armed wizards ready to barge in and kill them, which made Harry’s initial plan - forcing the assailants to fight outside the Bus - too risky; the lack of sufficient cover would leave them outnumbered and defenseless. With the Bus immobile, their only alternative was for either Harry or Daphne to run upstairs, which would allow the pair to engage their opponent in a two pronged assault. That plan relied on the wards stalling the assailant long enough for one of the two to take position upstairs, but Harry was confident that the wards would hold up.

As if Harry had jinxed their luck with his thoughts, there was a change in the air; it was as if a wave had suddenly washed over them. Harry shot a concerned look at Daphne, who returned it with a hint of something resembling fear in her eyes; she had felt it too. Whoever was outside had broken the wards. 

They were _fucked_.

As the door slid open, Harry sprung into action, casting a _Sectumsempra_ at the figure as they stepped through the doorway. The figure, clearly startled, hurriedly formed a _Protego_ to block the curse, but Harry didn’t stop. He started flinging every spell he knew at the figure, who continued to keep the shield up. A glance to his left confirmed that Daphne had thought to do the same. On they went, casting spells at the figure in an attempt to drive them back out the door, yet the figure stood in place, successfully blocking each spell as they came. They appeared to be saying something, but all Harry could think to do was to strike down the killer before they could do the same to him

As they continued to attack, Harry felt himself weakening; the adrenaline started to wane as his magical reserves slowly depleted with each passing spell. He began to fatigue, the time in between his spells starting to increase as he had muster more energy to perform each successive spell. Daphne, still casting, shot a concerned look over her shoulder at Harry, and in that moment, the intruder attacked, casting dual disarming spells at both Harry and Daphne, knocking them to the floor (and in Daphne’s case, over the bed and beside Harry) and sending their wands flying; Daphne got back on her feet immediately while Harry remained on the floor, too exhausted to move. The figure caught their wands with their free hand.

“Are you two finished?" the intruder asked in a deep voice As they said this, they cast a Lumos, lighting up the room and revealing their appearance. The figure turned out to be a middle-aged African-British man clad in blue robes and a cap. There was an amused expression on his face, as if he hadn’t spent the last two minutes fighting off two malnourished and tightly-wound young adults. He nodded at Harry, who simply stared up at him apprehensively. “Hello, Harry. Are you alright?”

“And who the hell are you?” Daphne asked, standing in front of Harry, her body shielding his defensively. 

“Apologies, I forgot to introduce myself.” The man tossed their wands towards Daphne, who handed Harry his wand before holding her’s up in a defensive stance. “There’s no need for that; I'm not here to fight. My name is Kingsley Shacklebolt. The Order sent me to find you.”

**Author's Note:**

> NOTE: For those who started reading before I updated the chapter, Kingsley Shacklebolt has replaced Nymphadora Tonks as the one who rescues Harry and Daphne. I made this change because I have plans for Tonks further in the story, and the rescue scene didn't fit the plans for her character Sorry for the confusion.


End file.
